Thinking About Loss

 Colin Powell died yesterday.  A combination of blood cancer disabling his immune system and the insidious presence of COVID 19.  He had been vaccinated which, were he otherwise healthy, would have meant an uncomfortable week with flu-like aches and pains, but the addition of cancer in his system exacerbated the problem.  He is a loss to a country who can't afford that kind of loss.

A bit over thirteen months ago I lost my brother Ken to liver cancer.  I wrote about it back then. and how it affected me. It still does.

A couple months before that I lost my feline buddy Elvis.  Before you even think about saying anything, I agree that the death of a pet is not like the death of a brother.  It's not.  That said, I'm still haunted by the memory of handing this very sick cat through the open car window to the masked Vet Tech while Elvis looked at me with curiosity (very prescient cat attitude in this case.)   She returned him to me in a casket-like box.

I've lost touch with dear friends during this unending pandemic, people I love and enjoy being in close contact with.  We try to keep in touch but without physical contact — for we are all huggers — it's been hard, harder than I thought it could be.  

The straw that broke this camel's back came yesterday.  I had decided to donate my 1992 Miata to the Make a Wish Foundation.  I hadn't driven it in almost a year-and-a-half primarily because I had removed the seats with the idea of replacing them with something classier.  When I got the new seats in, the top wouldn't latch.  Long story short, I couldn't get the original equipment seats back in.  The brackets I'd bought to replace the ones I had stupidly thrown out, didn't fit.  I finally gave up.  I gave the fancy wheels and tires to a friend who owns a 90 Miata and replaced them with old ones he had.  Once I had it prepped for removal, I scheduled the pick up and supervised the process of loading my car onto the bed of the tow truck.  

When he pulled out of the driveway I noticed that I  was crying.  It's silly to get so emotional over a car I'd owned for 18 years and put tons of money into, isn't it?  I think it was just one more piece of happiness in my life that I had lost.  It's strange that something this mundane broke me after all the other stuff.

Until next time,



  1. Over the course of my life and from a very young age, I have experienced an abundance of death. And while not equal to human loss, I still weep occasionally when I think of the house I built, raised my kids in, and was forced to sell by an ex who simply refused to discuss my buying his less-than-half share out. I was fortunate to sell to a young family who I knew would love it in a good way.

    And then there is my beloved extra-cab Toyota pickup truck at 286,000 miles. I couldn't afford the work it needed done but was able to sell it to someone who I could tell would love it and actually allowed me visitation rights... lol. I did see him and my beloved truck a few years later at a gas station. The newer owner invited me to say hi and told me of all the repairs he had done, the additional 100,000 -plus miles he had driven it... even out to Colorado to pick up stone for his landscaping business.

    Somewhere out there a very happy deserved person will be driving your beloved Miata... I hope that thought brings you a certain level of joy.

    And yes, this pandemic is taking its toll on all of us. Hang in there...

  2. Beautiful dear Tom, always beautiful.
    A Hafiz poem:
    The heart is right to cry even when the smallest drop of love, of light is taken away. Perhaps you may moan, kick, scream in a dignified silence, and you are right to do so in any fashion, until God returns to you.

    The heart is right to cry…
    I love you.

  3. My beloved cat, Skyler, died 2 weeks ago. I picked up his remains (cremated) this morning. He is back in the RV now, which he loved. He was my best friend for almost 17 years & loved the RV. Glad that I adopted Chatty over a year ago. Even he is wondering where Skyler is. Cats do have feelings, & Chatty has been extra loving to me the past 2 weeks.


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Comments are always from "anonymous". Often I can identify the author by the content of the comment, but that much cogitation makes my 80 year-old brain tired. Please help out an old man and identify yourself within the text of the comment. Thanks for the comments whether or not you ID yourself. Tom